The Asshole

His mountainous orange hairpiece askew, purse strings tightening round his tiny puckered mouth, the sad friendless, cretinous, semi-literate, misogynistic, homophobic, islamophobic, xenophobic, closet racist, white supremacist and neo-Nazi, and flat-out serial-lying flabby ignoramus who cannot laugh and can hardly smile, applauds himself as he appears on stage, a waddling catalogue of psychotic disorders, a paranoid, delusional, self-obsessed, egotistical, schizophrenic, narcissistic, sociopathic con man, whose miniature mouth really does resemble an asshole. I challenge you to juxtapose close ups of the two and try to tell the difference.

This blithering blathering idiot pauses at the podium, continuing to clap his itty bitty, self-congratulatory palms together like a baby sea lion clamoring for breakfast as the applause swells into a tsunami of hope and desperation, seasoned in some not inconsiderable quarters of the stadium with haters of the Other.

His tiny pussy gropers flailing like an indignant lobster’s antennae as his facial asshole opens out into a perfect circle, he begins his peroration, a litany of libel and blame aimed squarely at all those who aren’t white and Christian and born here, in other words, all “those people” who steal his audience’s jobs and rape their women and desecrate their religion. He will deport the lot of them, build a wall around his country towering above that of ancient China – and nobody builds walls better than him. And they will all live happily ever after.

The rafters shake with approbation.

Everything will be great and huge and beautiful again, continues their hero, just as everything he has ever done himself in his entire life has been great and huge and beautiful, from his worldwide network of world-class golf courses and world-class gold-plated, sky-scraping towers of glory and shimmering, money-spinning casinos that have made him a billionaire many times over.

He winks: “You can never be too greedy. You know, it really doesn’t matter what the media write as long as you’ve got a young, and beautiful, piece of ass. When you’re a star, you can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”

Roars of admiring laughter.

“My IQ is also one of the highest — and you all know it!” wonder boy elaborates. “Please don’t feel so stupid or insecure; it’s not your fault. Remember, the New York Times is fake news, they don’t write good. They don’t know how to write good.”

Someone in the audience stands up waving a banner protesting what their idol has been saying about “those people.” The man is thrown out of the stadium on his ear.

Our demigod explains in gory detail to his worshippers what he would have done to such a terrible person. And believe me, he stresses, he knows how to do this. He can do anything he wants. “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.”

A standing-up-on-seats ovation.

And this is the guy you elected President of the United States?

No, of course not. We’re not that stupid.

David Stansfield is a former PBS writer-producer and the author of “Take Nothing For Granted,” a thriller set against the backdrop of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.